Sunni
by GreenWillow
Summary: Following the Return to New York saga, the Turtles are creating a new underground home. While out foraging, Raphael encounters the cousin of his old sparring partner, Lucindra. At first reluctant, Raphael is drawn into a friendship.
1. Chapter 1

Hi All  
Welcome to my Bold Experiment. I've never submitted anything to this site before, but here we go. This story takes place in the Mirage Universe, shortly after the _Return to New York_ story arc, and before _City at War_. Raphcentric, adult situations, and I'm not sure yet how this site will deal with Raphael's potty-mouth. Guess I'll find out. ;o)  
GW

**Sunni**  
_One _

It was supposed to be a simple operation. Mike had found the old electric stove listing forlornly up against a dumpster under the concrete supports of the on ramps to the bridge, almost at the water's edge. A tall water spillway emptying into the East River allowed ready access to the underground tunnels which led eventually to the new area that had been decreed home, even if only for a while.

While Mike had stayed to help Don as he raced to work out the new wiring system, Raph and Leo had headed up topside in the dead of night to retrieve the stove. Now that they had found a more or less suitable place, they were anxious to make their new accommodations livable. They had lived too long with the comfortable amenities of a normal household; too long in the farmhouse with wood heat and hot showers, and too long without the uncertainty of where the next meal would come from.

Of course, that seemed to be one reason they were back in the sewer.

It was early spring, and even this close to the water, the frost had formed patterns on the black windshields of the abandoned cars beneath the expressway. The burn barrels of the homeless had long since died out, though their oily smell hung in the air, mixing with the taste of exhaust and smoke. The city still rumbled around them, in the darkness, familiar as the throb of their own pulses. Her late night song seemed distant and muted, almost a melodious lullaby. Almost.

Looking like two raggedly dressed derelicts, Leo and Raph crept from the shadows and hefted the stove. They made their way carefully through the broken glass and debris to the concrete embankment that led to the spillway. Raphael cursed under his breath at the awkwardness of the task, balancing his side of the appliance against his thighs as his toes curled against the cold concrete.

"You OK?" asked Leo holding the uphill end of the stove.

"Got it."

Once inside the five-foot tall tunnel the going was easier, albeit pitch black. The darkness was not an issue though. Even with the recent two-year hiatus from New York's underground world, the habits of the previous 15 years, years spent living with every sense extended to the fullest, were not easily forgotten. They knew with an almost sonar confidence where the damp brick walls led. And each knew the movements of the other's body like his own.

The problem was the stove. The most direct route to the new site brought them to a section of tunnel that had at one time collapsed, and had been hastily rebuilt. A human might be able to pass through crawling on all fours. Two five-foot tall mutant turtles certainly could have. The boxy stove refused.

"Damn."

"She's just not gonna go, is she?"

"Nope." Raphael sank down on his haunches in the tunnel, aware of the two inches of icy water soaking the bottom of his overcoat.

Leo sighed. "I guess we could double back. Take a different route, come in from the north side."

"Take all night."

"It's gonna take as long as it takes anyway."

"Ah, jeez…."

"Hey, what if we took it apart?"

"Took it apart?"

"Yeah, look. If we pry the back off, and take off the upper panel piece with the clock, we might be able to get it through sideways." Leonardo was already working on wiggling loose the top section.

"You're gonna need a screw driver. How can you see, anyway?"

"Hand me a sai."

"Leo, this is bullshit…" Raphael gave him one sai and set to work on the back panel with the other.

They managed to break the stove down into three smaller components that would fit through the narrow section and were sliding the first and largest section through when Raphael yelped.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"Damned thing bit me."

"You cut?"

"Yeah. Just my hand. Damn. It's a bleeder."

Leonardo passed him his mask in the dark.

"I can use my own, Leo."

"It was in my pocket. It's clean. Go ahead."

Once they had gotten the stove pieces through the narrow section they were left with the annoying dilemma of how to carry the three odd shaped parts connected by dangling wires with two sets of hands. Leo lifted the two panels, shouldering the smaller boxy piece, and Raph lifted the larger heavier base section. They set off again in the chilled still air of the underground, their feet sloshing in the cold run-off.

"Where are we you think?" asked Raphael eventually as they trudged along in the cold gloom.

"Twenty-fifth? Somewhere in there. Midtown anyway."

"I'm starving."

"Me too. I hope Splinter ate that bread Mike brought him."

"Why wouldn't he?"

Leo didn't answer.

"Why wouldn't he?" repeated Raphael. " Cause none of us had anything?"

Leo nodded without turning back.

"Hey, I was thinking we should go check out that place I was at the other night. Whatsit?…the Regency."

Leo paused. Hunger twisted his stomach. "It would be a good thing if we brought something back with us. I don't know if it's a good idea to hit the same place twice so soon."

"Yeah, well, I uh…" Raphael hesitated. "Ya know that roast I got there? I think they left it out on purpose."

Leo turned in the dark. He could barely make out his brother's shape two feet behind him in the murky darkness. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think it was left out for someone to pick up, on purpose. It wasn't in the dumpster. It was wrapped in plastic, in a paper bag, sitting next to it. And remember; it was perfectly good. Not spoiled at all."

"Hm."

"OK, Leo, here's the other thing. I didn't tell you before cause I figured you'd blow a gasket, but Mike an' me were there last week, and uh… someone saw us."

"Someone _saw_ you?"

"Well, not like _saw _saw. It was raining. All they saw was some guy in a trench coat goin' over the chain link fence."

"Great." Leo propped his burden against the wall and leaned into it for balance. "And you think we oughta go back there?"

"Hey, if someone's leavin' food out for us on purpose seems like a good deal to me."

"So what? Are they leaving it there out of some altruistic motive or as bait?"

"Bait for what?" Raphael almost laughed. "What is it, open season on winos? Come on Leo, for once I might be right, heh?"

Leo's stomach ground again. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this hungry. Probably over three years ago. His own discomfort he could deal with, and he didn't want it to be a part of his decision. But he knew Don and Mike must be feeling the same, or worse. Donatello wouldn't leave the new lair until he finished whatever project was driving him.

"And besides, if Splinter didn't eat that bread-" Raphael was sounding remarkably reasonable.

"Alright, alright. We'll check it out."

The fenced service area behind the Regency Hotel was bordered on two sides by alleys and by the back of another hotel on the third. Downtown was still alight, erasing the fine line between very late at night and very early in the morning, but the service yard was small, cluttered and blackened in shadows. Leonardo perched on the seven-foot fence close to the brick wall, crouching close to a pile of discarded building materials, the pads of his bare feet balancing on the cold steel bar. The rolls of insulation and several long boards leaned against the chain link and extended two feet over his head, efficiently concealing him.

The wet smell of old food wafted from the two dumpsters; onions, tomato sauce, and souring milk. Leo's stomach growled at the same he felt like retching. He had almost forgotten what it was like to eat everything with a coating of used coffee grounds, but he had a feeling he was about to be reminded.

He trusted Splinter's wisdom in this. He knew he had good reasons to bring them back here. He just couldn't help wondering, right this moment, what those reasons were.

Raphael was on the ground, slipping silently through the darkest recesses of the service yard. Leo watched him move, quickly, low, cat-like in his silent stalking, to the two large dumpsters. He heard him let out low hiss and then the soft rustle of paper bags.

Cigarette smoke—Leonardo looked up. A light shone dimly at the door, a sense of movement within. He whistled sharply, saw Raphael drop and pivot, one bag clutched to his chest. Raph ran and leaped, hitting the chain link fence. Leonardo heard the clang and rattle of the steel behind him as he dropped over the other side and ran for the alley. He waited, pressed against the wall, to see his brother running toward him. No one came. He'd heard him climb the fence. Where the hell was he?

"Raphael?"

Raphael froze for an instant, fingers curled through the steel links. He couldn't have heard that right.

"Raphael," repeated the woman's voice behind him. "Hey. Lucindra says 'Hi'."

In two quick movements Raph cleared the fence and landed on the other side. He ran to Leo, holding the bulging bag of groceries, and the two dashed for the manhole, uncomfortably well lit, and close to the main street.

The haul had been impressive. A loaf of bread, a bag of apples, a bunch of carrots, a gallon of milk and some slightly stale cookies. The cookies went first.

"Donatello, eat something!" said Leonardo, holding the dim flashlight aloft for him.

"If I don't finish grounding this connection before those batteries give out, we're gonna all be in the dark and I won't be able to find my lunch anyway." He dropped the screwdriver and Leo directed the beam to the ground so he could retrieve it.

"You're standing in water, Don," said Leo.

"I know, I know. Just try and find someplace in here where there's no water-" he snapped his mouth shut, cutting short his sentence, and glancing quickly back at Splinter.

Splinter sat on a crate in the opposite corner of the area which had been designated the new living room. He was wrapped in one of the wool blankets April had sent them off with, thoughtfully chewing an apple.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Michaelangelo.

"Yeah, somewhere behind the box over there is the electric tape-"

"Here y'go." Mike tossed it and Donatello deftly caught it.

"Look, you guys," said Don between his teeth as he bit off a section of tape. "I know how to do this stuff so much better now. This place we're gonna have lights, we're gonna have heat, we're gonna have a shower, we already have a stove--"

"Don," said Leo. "I'm shutting off this flashlight. Please eat something."

"Ok, ok. I think we have it now." Donatello stepped back and plugged one end of and extension cord into his newly devised socket high on the wall, and carefully draping the cord so it didn't fall in the water, plugged in the small electric heater sitting on a broken chair. The heater buzzed, and slowly began to glow red.

"Ha _ha!" _crowed Donatello, and turned the heater toward Splinter.

Outside the warming glow of the noisy heater, Raphael leaned against the mortared wall. He had decided not to say anything about the woman who had called him by name. He could have been mistaken, too, though he doubted it.

_"Lucindra says 'hi.'"_

_Too weird_.

It had been three years since he had seen Lucindra. His friendship with her had been nearly impossible to explain to his brothers then. She'd been one hell of a good sparring partner, for as long as that had lasted. She stopped meeting with him after they'd both nearly been killed in a surprise ambush. Couldn't blame her. But it had caused so much dissension, so much mistrust directed at him. There didn't seem to be any point in opening that can of worms again. Arguing with Leo about things like that just made him feel worse. Splinter sided with Leo. Mike and Don sided with Leo. Raphael was always on the other side of the fence. It was a fence that kept him prisoner, bounded on all sides. Locked in and locked out at the same time.

_Look at 'em now. Acting all happy. Don going on about his great plans to make this pit into the Taj Mahal or some damn thing. Leo kissing up as if he thinks this idea of Splinter's is the greatest thing since chopsticks. Mike juggling apples._

_Yeah, well, if it weren't for me, there wouldn't be any damn apples to juggle._

_Am I the only one who thinks coming back to the sewer just sucks? Or am I the only one with the guts to admit it?_

Raphael waited one night before going back. Two days working with his brothers in the dark and wetly dripping new "home" was enough to drive him to distraction, but he hung in with them as long as he could. He chose a moment close to dawn, when everyone was sleeping, curled up on the odd sized packing crates under April's blankets. With no one to ask where he was going, Raphael slipped away silently and headed for the Regency.

It was drizzling, one of those steady, chilling drizzles that a month prior would have been snow. He made his way down the alley, hugging the walls as much to avoid the rain as to remain unseen. Slowly, with deliberate care so as not to rattle the cold steel, he climbed the fence, and stole over the wet asphalt of the cluttered yard. The hiss of rain helped to mask any sound he might have made. Something black and shiny fluttered fitfully in breeze sitting next to the dumpster. Raphael grinned as he crept up to it. It was black plastic bag, smelling wonderfully of fried chicken. A piece of masking tape was stuck across it. The bare bulb lit by the back door shed enough light he could read what was written in black marking pen on it:

RAFAEL

Raph started, his heart thudding. He picked up the bag, spun around and was over the fence, down the alley and slipping into the manhole in four seconds.

On his way through the darkened storm drains he tore the masking tape off the bag and stuffed it in his pocket.

He was back two nights later. Raphael was glad at least he had no rain to contend with, the night was clear and cold. He had found a smooth board to crouch down on, hidden behind a barrel and most of an old freezer. It was early, much earlier than he was accustomed to being out, but he wanted to be there before the kitchen crew left for the night. He knew the tattered overcoat and shapeless fedora offered little in the way of concealment if anyone were to get a good look, but if he was being hunted, he had to turn the tables, and become the hunter.

Spaced about 20 feet apart in the old brick face of the wall were two entrances; a large wide delivery entry, with a roll down steel door, and a smaller screened doorway with the yellow electric light, which led into the kitchen. Overhead the latticework of fire escapes and small windows extended up twenty floors. Above that, the starless sky was a narrow band of black between the towering buildings. The large airy windows, which were the eyes of the individual hotel rooms, were on the other sides of the building, facing the Avenues.

Inside the kitchen door he could hear voices, sounds of activity, the clanging of pots, and low thudding of large heavy doors. The smells of cooking food, and hot water and soap drifted his way. As he waited, the sounds quieted, became less frequent. He watched his breath float white in the night air, and pulled the battered fedora further down, eyes narrowed.

The kitchen screen door opened with a tinny creak, sending a long quadrangle of light into the center of the service yard. Raphael tensed, lifting himself a fraction of an inch higher to get a better look. A young woman stepped out, carrying several large, well-stuffed white plastic bags. She was dressed in white, an apron over white pants, and her curly brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She walked quickly to the dumpster, heaved it open, and threw the bags in. She crossed her arms against the chill, and hurried back to the door at a jog. Moments later she re-emerged, this time with a brown paper shopping bag. She set it against the dumpster and knelt down. The smell of marking pen hit Raphael's nostrils as she wrote on the bag. She sat back on her heels, seeming to reconsider, then capped the pen and sat the bulging bag up a little straighter.

"You spelled it wrong."

The young woman yelped and nearly fell backwards; turning around so fast she slipped and had to grab the dumpster for support.

She gulped, breathless, looking around the yard for the source of the voice. "Who's there?"

"Who do you think?"

The woman planted her feet, shifted the marking pen in her hand so she gripped it like a knife, and steadied her breathing. "Is that you, Raphael?"

"Could be."

"You don't have to be afraid, you know," she said. "I won't hurt you."

There was a long pause.

"Hello?" she said, and took a tentative step toward Raphael's hiding place. "I said I won't hurt you…"

"Well, good. That's good. Glad to hear it," Raphael finally answered with a small catch in his voice as he suppressed the urge to laugh. He stood and stepped out from behind the freezer, still half hidden in the shadows, one eye on his escape path.

The woman narrowed her eyes, staring at the dark, trench coated shape as it moved forward a step or two. "Are you Raphael?" she asked.

"You keep calling me that. Guess so."

"Well, OK, then. Until you tell me otherwise I'm going to call you Raphael. Hi. I'm Sunni."

"Nice ta meetcha." Raphael pulled his collar up to better cover his wide face. The exposure was nerve-wracking, but his curiosity had already won out over caution. "So Sunni, what's with the grocery bags?"

"I left 'em out for you." She had dropped her defensive stance and stood now facing him with a relaxed confidence.

"For me. How come?"

"Well, if you're who I think you are, you know my cousin, Lucindra Thompkins."

Raphael didn't react outwardly, not that she could see his face anyway in the dark. "You're Lucindra's cousin? She told you about me?"

Sunni smiled. "Not exactly. I told her about this strange footprint I saw a couple of weeks ago, and this guy who'd been in the dumpster, and she thought it might be someone named Raphael. She wouldn't tell me how she knew you."

Raphael breathed out, somewhat relieved. Cindra had mostly kept her word, it seemed.

"So, why don't you come on out, Raphael? I told you I'm not gonna hurt you. And I'm not gonna call the police or anything. Come on out where I can see you."

This time he chuckled out loud. "That's OK."

"Look," she said in a gentle tone, as though coaxing a small child. "You don't have to worry. I work with a lot of people on the street. I know things can get pretty bad. There isn't much I haven't seen."

_You haven't seen this…._

"Sunni, you're a nice person. Thanks fer leavin' the stuff out. You see Cindra, you tell her I'm doin' fine an' I hope she is too. But I gotta be goin' now."

"Well, OK." Sunni quickly turned and picked up the bag of food and Raphael realized the strategic error he had made. "Here ya go," Sunni smiled, lifting the bag in his direction.

"You can just set it down, I'll get it."

Sunni smiled even wider, lifted her chin, and stood her ground.

Raphael considered his options. He could turn and be over fence and gone before she even knew what had happened, and go home empty handed. He could take one running jump forward, handspring over her head, and in the resultant confusion, get the bag from her from behind and escape, doubtless scaring her half to death in the process. Or he could stand here trying to negotiate and hope she became impatient and would simply leave the bag and go. Raphael figured it was a safe bet whose patience would wear thin first, though. A sharp exhale escaped him. Yep, he wasn't going to win any patience contests.

"Come on Raphael, I know you were friends with my cousin. Nothing could be all that bad."

She stood expectantly, the yellow light illuminating her hair from behind, creating a golden glow around her face. Medium height, most of her shape hidden by the kitchen apron, Raphael figured she was in her 20's. She actually didn't look much like her tall, lean cousin. He had always thought of Lucindra as snake-like: sleek and languid, until she struck with lightening speed and strength. This girl was more like a bouncy puppy. Raphael scratched his cheek and cocked his head.

"So what do you want, Sunni? What's the angle here?"

"There's no angle. I know a lot of people. Not social workers, or people in the system. I mean good folks who are out on the streets, helping people like you. I might be able to help you if you let me."

"I don't need any help."

Sunni sighed. A knowing look passed over her face, as though she had heard that many times. "OK, Raphael. I gotta finish my clean up. I'll just leave it here." She stepped back and carefully set the bag on the ground. She turned and walked back to the kitchen, then paused at the door. "Oh, listen. There's a friend of mine who's gonna be opening a place up in Harlem, at 128th and Burton real soon. You might want to check it out. Free food. And you get to eat indoors if you want. You come back here, and I'll let you know, 'kay?"

"OK, thanks."

He waited until she had been inside for several minutes before stealing across the yard, snagging the bag, and taking off.

As he hurried along through the gurgle and hollow darkness of the sewer tunnels, it began really bothering him, the whole thing, but he wasn't sure why. It grated on him. Gnawed at him.

_What the heck is it? She thinks I'm a homeless street person, fine, I can work with that. Who cares what she thinks? Bottom line, we eat decent food….but..._

_She feels **sorry **for me._

_Gah._

_That sucks._

(Chapter Two coming shortly)


	2. Chapter 2

Here is Chapter Two of my Bold Experiment. Reviews mightily appreciated! Thank you!

Sunni Chapter Two

* * *

"_Eat the Waldorf first. It has mayonnaise_," Mike read out loud. "Hey, what's this?"

"What's what?" asked Don stuffing a dinner roll into his mouth.

"There's a note in this bag." Mike grinned in the candlelight. "Hey Raph, did you know this bag of garbage came with instructions?"

"What? Lemme see that!" Raphael snatched the piece of paper from Mike's hands and read the neatly handwritten words. He grunted and crumbled the paper tossing it into a puddle in the corner behind the packing crate.

"Hey, Raph, come on. Don't make a mess," said Leo, coming in from the narrow passage which had been designated the future bedroom. "What was that, anyway?"

Raphael's eyes widened. "Oh, OK Leo. Right. I won't make a mess." He gestured around the cluttered, dark room, echoing with the constant drip of run off. "We wouldn't wanna look untidy. Can't be makin' a mess. Hell, Architectural Digest could come by any day fer a photo shoot, right?"

"Guys, all we need are light bulbs and this system is ready to go-" Donatello sounded pleading.

"I love it when he's like that," said Mike. "Don't you love it when he's like that?" When no one answered he shrugged and stuck his nose back in the bag and pulled out a neat plastic container. "Cool, Waldorf!" He fished around in the bag again.

"What're ya lookin' for now, Mike?" asked Raphael brusquely to cover his uneasiness that there might be another note.

"The little bottle that says 'Drink Me'. Heh." Mike pulled out a dinner roll and took a bite. "So we gonna head up and get those futons? They're not gonna last, someone will get 'em."

"How many did you say there were?" asked Leonardo, hopping up to sit on a packing crate.

"Tons. A dozen anyway. Looks like they dumped a whole shipment. Musta been defective."

"Yeah, or full o' bugs," said Raph, grateful the topic had changed.

"Let's figure around three am," said Leo. "We'll all need to go if we want to get five of them, they'll be an awkward load."

Donatello scratched his chin. "Maybe I could rig something…."

"Take too long," Leo cut him off. "We need to score those puppies tonight. Especially if it's supposed to rain by morning."

At two a.m. they hit the dark surface streets and broke into two teams. Each planned to scout a large section of the neighborhood before meeting at the rendezvous point on the rooftop of Asahi Manufacturing. Leo and Don went north, Mike and Raph went south.

"We're not going to find much in this part of town," muttered Raphael, as he and Mike slipped through a bottle-strewn alley between rows of moldering brick tenement buildings. "People can't throw out what they ain't got." One wall was lined with bulging plastic trash bags, smelling of rotted food and urine. Somewhere a baby cried, and then fell silent. A dog barked, and a man drunkenly yelled for quiet. Far off sirens wailed.

"Y'know, it's hard to tell anymore which ones are the abandoned ones and which ones people live in," said Mike quietly, gazing up at the fire escapes and ripped clothes lines hanging ghostly far overhead.

"That's 'cause people live in the abandoned ones, too."

Mike paused and cocked his head. "You hear that?"

"What? The cat?"

"That's not a cat. Listen. It's someone crying." Mike's eyes narrowed as he tried to pinpoint the sound, scanning the darkened narrow windows above them.

"Yeah, well, someone'll take care of it. Come on."

"What if no one does?"

"Mike, if no one cares, why should we? Let's take care of ourselves."

Mike pointed. "It's up there. I'm gonna check it out. You go on Raph, I'll catch up with you."

Raphael groaned as Mike crossed the alley and leaped up, catching the edge of the fire escape, chinned himself up and nimbly swung onto the platform. On silent feet he climbed the iron rungs. At the seventh flight he stopped. The muffled sounds of a small voice sobbing came from behind a broken and partially boarded up window. The iron bars hung at an angle by one screw, and he had no trouble pushing them aside and peering in between the boards.

The bare room within was lit with a dusty light fixture overhead, sending not more than 40 watts of light into the small area. In the far corner on the floor was a mattress. A small child sat curled up, wrapped in a thin blanket, his back to the wall, clutching a worn stuffed toy. He sniffled and wiped his eyes on the toy's long ears.

Mike swallowed. He tried to see if any light came from under the door, listening hard for other voices, trying to tell if anyone else was in the apartment. The loose wooden boards offered no protection from the night air. It had to be almost as cold inside as out. He gave a tentative tug on one board. With a squeak of the nail it moved easily. The child looked up, startled, his dark eyes wide.

"Hey, uh…hi there," said Mike softly. "You ok?"

The boy stared back. Mike wondered how much of his face the boy could discern through the narrow space between the boards.

"You scared?"

Huge black-lashed eyes regarded Mike solemnly. The child hugged his stuffed toy tightly. After several long moments a small whispery voice asked: "Es usted un angel?"

"What? Uh…are you asking me? No. Heh." Mike smiled. "No, I'm not an angel. Uh, do you speak English? My Spanish isn't so good."

The boy stared mutely.

"I bet your folks told you not to tell anyone if you're here alone, huh?"

"Mama's at work."

"Oh. OK." Michaelangelo looked up at the boards. "So you're all alone?"

The answer came as a renewed surge of whimpered crying.

Mike couldn't stand it. He pulled the boards, groaning in protest, off the window and climbed in, carefully avoiding the ragged shards of broken glass still sticking up from the window frame. He stood still on the bare wooden flooring, watching the small boy who stared back at him, wide-eyed.

"I just wanna make sure you're alright. Don't be scared, ok?" Mike felt certain it was a futile request.

The boy hugged his stuffed toy and stared at the turtle. After several long moments he said, "Ok."

Mike took a tentative step forward. "My name is Mike. What's yours?"

"Miguel."

"Oh. So, we've kinda got the same name, huh?" Mike looked around the room. The wallpaper was dark and stained, the hardwood floor swept clean, but dull. "You know," said Mike. "When I was little sometimes my father would have to go out and leave us. And we got scared sometimes, too. So, y'know, I know what it's like, kinda." Besides the bare mattress on the floor there was only one other piece of furniture in the room, a small end table with a glass of water and a couple of books. Michaelangelo slowly walked toward the table, and lifted the first one. "Say, would you like me to read to you? For a while anyway, till you fall asleep?"

Miguel nodded solemnly.

"Cool. Is it OK if I sit next to you?"

"OK."

He settled on the mattress next to the boy. Miguel regarded him now with more curiosity than fear. "You're a turtle, not an angel," he decided out loud.

"Yeah, that's right. Heh, see? No wings."

"Mama said the angels watch over me when she's at work."

Mike felt his throat tighten. "Yeah, well, that's right. They do. They just asked me to help out tonight. Is that alright?"

Miguel nodded and pointed to the book in Mike's hands. "Read."

Michaelangelo opened the book. "There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be…."

* * *

"So where's Mike?" asked Leonardo. 

"Babysittin'," said Raph.

"Great. Is he coming?"

Raphael shrugged. "I guess I coulda clubbed him over the head and carried him here."

They had picked out five single futons from the heap that had been left outside by the factory ramp, within the small fenced enclosure. Enough light from the rows of windows above shone down to make the area uncomfortably bright, so they had waited for Mike from a darkened stairwell between two walls.

"Well, we can't wait all night for him. Two of us are going to have to carry two of these. And if he doesn't show up at home, Raph, you'll have to go back for him."

"Yeah, Leo, I know, I know." Raphael waved a hand impatiently.

"You know where he went, right?"

"Yeah, Leo, I KNOW already, huh?"

Leonardo exhaled sharply and dropped down to the ramp from his hiding place, Don and Raph following. They found some lengths of cording and were able to roll two of the mats up like jellyrolls. The others remained a loosely floppy challenge to carry. They divided the loads and headed back through the tunnels, the over lapping ends of the unrolled futons bumping against the walls of the narrower tunnels and impeding their progress in the most aggravating manner.

Once home they had to find a way to stack the futons and keep them dry as the floor still had water pooling in the low places. There were only so many packing crates, and using them meant there would be nowhere to sleep. Splinter was already curled up on one and when he opened his eyes they had reassured him all was well and told him to go back to sleep. The truth was, everyone's patience was at the bitter end. Don and Leo were looping a short rope over one of the pipes that ran along the low ceiling trying to hang one futon up, when Mike slipped quietly through the broken place in the wall that served as a door. Leonardo turned on him.

"Ya know, Mike, we coulda used some help up there. Where the hell have you been?"

"Aw, back off, Leo!" snapped Raphael before Mike could say anything in his own defense.

"You back off, Raph!" Leo shot back, pulling on the rope.

"Um," said Mike. "I'm sorry, Leo. It's my fault. There was this kid left alone and I just-"

"You come on over here an' make me, Leo!" Raphael shouted over Mike.

"Not now, you guys," begged Donatello, holding the elevated futon steady.

"Oh, what? This is inconvenient for you, Donnie?"

"As a matter of fact, Raph, yes. Your choice of timing for these hormonal displays of aggression is almost always damn inconvenient."

In one motion Raphael drew a sai and threw it into the futon, inches from Don's fingers. A small puff of cotton stuffing popped out as the sai stuck.

Donatello turned his head slowly to Raph. "Brilliant."

Raphael let loose an angry snarl, and strode to the futon, jerking his sai back out. He turned on his heels, grabbed his trench coat and hat, and took off out the doorway.

"Raph!" called Mike after him.

"Let him go," said Leo. "Give him a chance to cool off."

"At least lower the futon mortality rate around here," muttered Don.

He found himself outside the high chain link fence that surrounded the service yard in back of the Regency. He hadn't consciously planned on coming there, although he had brought the disguising clothing. It was close to dawn, and the streets were still dark with the colorless flat gray of the overcast night sky. The air smelled of rain not yet falling, and the low roar of the city coming to life rumbled in his ears.

He stood with his fingers hooked through the steel, staring at the just emptied dumpsters. He could hear the whine and crash of machinery as the garbage truck raised another full dumpster two alleyways away. He knew he had no reason to be there. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he had any reason to be anywhere.

He heard footfalls on the sidewalk at the far end of the alley and quickly swung himself over the fence, slipping into the shadows of the junk in the yard. He sank down onto a wooden box, well hidden, the coat collar turned up, and sat very still. He felt numb, empty. It was becoming a mindless ritual; he would lose his temper, leave in order to cool off, and more and more the act of "cooling off" felt like "going numb." Whatever it was he was supposed to be getting "under control" or "working out" never happened. He would still feel bad; it was just a different kind of bad.

He heard, or more accurately, _sensed_ movement inside the back door of the Regency kitchen. The small, high window lit with a weak light. With a grim resignation, Raphael realized he was going to have to move on, find some other place to sit and be alone. The humans, those beings he depended upon for nearly everything that made his life possible, were once again too close for safety. He had a momentary sense that his relationship with the human race felt much like his relationship to his own family. He loved his brothers, needed them as urgently as he needed to drink and eat, and yet somehow there were times when they seemed too close, times when they seemed to crowd in on him, and he had to flee. He stopped just short of the next thought, the one that would have sapped all his remaining anger and left him with nothing but a terrifying void. He was not ready to acknowledge that in those moments of being crowded, pressed, backed into a wall by far too much of his brothers' company, he would deliberately arrange circumstances to justify his angry outbursts, giving him the excuse he needed to escape. If someone wasn't causing it, outside himself, it would mean all his emotional roller coaster riding was only he, himself, on some endless loop, in utter isolation. He needed them as much for his reason to be angry as he needed them to be there to love.

It's them, he thought. Always leaning on me, always trying to make me be something I'm not. I can't run on whatever it is they run on. Whatever it is that Leo tells himself to keep going like that, I can't. I can't lie to myself like they can. They've gotta be living in some made up world, not this one, the real one, where we have to live like shadows…

The slamming of the back door jolted Raphael out of his dark brooding, sending a flood of adrenaline through him. He instinctively dropped lower, listening.

It was Sunni. Somehow, that didn't surprise him.

_"Come on Baby, make me feel all right._

_Come on Baby, let's get it on tonight_

_Ooooohooooo yeah yeah…!"_

She sang a bluesy lullaby as she carried an armload of cardboard boxes out. Setting them down she began stomping them flat, still singing lustily. Her voice had a pleasantly raspy quality, driven more by emotion than a need to sound pretty.

_"Oh yeah baby set my heart on fire._

_Come on darlin' you are my one desire!"_

Stomp! Crunch!

Raphael raised his head a fraction, enough to watch her jumping up and down on the boxes. She wore a gray men's boatman shirt and white slacks. A white apron was tied carelessly around her waist. He watched her body moving, the loose shirt moving with her.

Women… worse than the males, the women. The jumble of feelings they elicited was almost more than Raphael could stand. Living with April and Casey for a year had only confused him more. He had watched with a sort of morbid fascination, as Casey danced between a shyly approaching her one day, and a macho posturing the next. April's behavior was no less incomprehensible as she would vacillate between tenderness and cold withdrawal from Casey's attention. Raphael had asked Casey once what was really going on between them and Casey's response had been a sly wink and an invitation to "Watch and learn, buddy."

Raphael was convinced it was a miracle that humans managed to reproduce at all. But then there was television, and movies, and all those damn magazines….

He watched Sunni, obviously now making a game of flattening the boxes while singing a love song to them, and without thinking much about it, spoke out loud from the shadows.

"I think you killed it, alright."

Sunni jumped back and pressed her hand to her chest, looking around in the pre-dawn gloom. "What? Oh, damn…" she gulped and caught her breath. "Who's that?"

"It's just me. Don't worry."

"Just you who? Oh…Raphael?"

"Yeah."

Sunni tipped her head, one hand automatically tucking a few loose curly tendrils back up from where they had escaped. They didn't stay put. She smiled a friendly, easy, wide, smile that in no way concealed the sharply discerning light in her eyes. Looking in his direction she asked, "You get that last bag of stuff?"

"Yeah. I got it, Sunni. Thanks."

"Good. I'm glad. You…uh…need something else?"

"No. I don't need anything."

Sunni ran her tongue over her mouth, and thoughtfully drew her lower lip in, . "You gonna hide over there again, or you want to maybe come on out and talk to me?" Her raised eyebrows punctuated the question.

He didn't intend it, but the sigh that escaped him was audible.

"Come on." Sunni gestured with one hand and moved over to the low step at the door and sat down. From her shirt pocket she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one out. "I'm the only one here," she said, her lips around the cigarette. She struck a match and lit it, squinting against the smoke as she slowly exhaled, and shook out the match. "I open on Tuesdays and no one's gonna show up for another two hours. Now if I was afraid of you, I wouldn't tell you that. How come you think you gotta be afraid of me?" The smoke drifted around her face.

"I'm not afraid of you, Sunni."

"So then come on over here, boy." Her teeth gleamed in the thin light. Her smile was challenging and warm and teasing and honest all at once.

It almost felt like pain, a tiny stab of ache that ran across his shoulders, through his back where the skin over his trapezes connected to his carapace. An empty ache. If he had thought about it, he might have called it longing.

_What the hell…_

Raphael stood, pulled the hat low, the coat collar high, and jammed his hands down into his pockets. He stepped out from behind the broken appliances and piles of disintegrating cabinets, into the feeble gray light. Four feet in front of her he stopped and stood, feet planted, his half-concealed face cocked to one side, watching her, waiting for her reaction.

She took another drag on her cigarette and raised her face, smiling. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Not for me. How about you?"

Her smile faded a little. She narrowed her eyes, peering into the deep shadow across his face, searching for his eyes. "What did you think I would do, Raphael?"

"Scream. Run away."

Sunni drew in a deep breath and swallowed. "Why don't you come sit here." She moved over a little to one side on the concrete step.

"Why?"

Looking down, she stretched out her arm and flicked the ash onto the ground. She shrugged slightly, watching the ash drop. "You don't have to, if you don't feel comfortable."

Raphael stood his ground. Her tone confused him. He felt he was being spoken down to, but in a nice way, almost as if he was a child, but not quite that, either. That she wanted something from him was clear. He simply couldn't fathom what it could be. His habitual wariness kept him in check, and at the same time another part of him wanted, urgently wanted, to sit next to her.

So she freaks, so what? So what if she gets a good look, and then gets that expression on her face that they always get…

Maybe she won't.

Cindra didn't.

He shrugged, sucked on a tooth with feigned indifference, and took two steps forward, turned and sat on the step. Hands still buried in his pockets he cocked his head back. The light hit his face and he gazed into hers, challenging.

Her eyes widened only a fraction. She smiled again.

_Damn, she's good._

"See? I don't bite." Sunni brushed another stray curl from her eyes.

"Most people figure that _I _will."

"Do you?"

"No."

"Then s'all good." She took another drag. "You want a smoke?" she said around the cigarette.

As much as he would have liked to try it, he didn't want to demonstrate his naiveté and start choking in front of her. He shook his head.

"You don't smoke?"

He grunted noncommittally.

"Good. You shouldn't. I'm trying to quit. I quit for a awhile, but working here," she tossed her head in the direction of the kitchen. "Hanging around folks who smoke, you just kinda start again." She smiled, as though she had just thought of something amusing, and gazed down. For a moment Raphael had the uncomfortable impression she must be staring at his feet. If she was, and if their strange shape and size alarmed her, she hid it. "Keeps food on the table though. For more than a few people."

"You have a family to feed?"

Sunni shook her head. "No. I'm in a good position to get food out to a lot of people who are hungry. You know, stuff that places like this would throw away otherwise. It'd be wasted, so I just make sure it gets to people who need it."

"Some of that stuff you put in the bags didn't look like it was ready to be thrown out."

Sunni shrugged. "Sometimes there's just, you know, extra stuff…." She hid her smile behind her hand and the smoke.

"What, you some kinda Robin Hood or somethin'? Rob from the rich and give to the poor?"

"I like to think of it as a redistribution program." Her eyes sparkled.

Raphael chuckled.

"So, Raphael, where do you sleep?"

"At home."

She looked up. "You have a place?"

"Yeah." He tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. He guessed she would think he was lying anyway.

"Well, if you've got an address you might be able get, you know, money-"

"I have a place to live. I don't have an address. An' no one's gonna send me any money an' I don't want that anyway. You don't understand." He shifted, sitting up taller and tugging the hat brim lower again. "I think I should go."

"No, don't go." she said quickly. "I told you, I don't have anything to do with anyone at social services or anything. Don't worry. I just thought, if you hadn't tried for that—but don't worry, ok? I'm not trying to push anything on you."

He looked at her. Even in the somber gray light, her skin seemed to glow with bronze gold, nearly the same color as her hair. Diamond shaped face, full mouth, her hazel brown eyes now looking concerned, but unflinching under his direct stare.

"What do you want? I mean, what's your story?" he asked.

"My story?" Sunni looked across the yard, her cheeks dimpling as she suppressed a little smile. "Ok, I'll tell you. I was in school, at NYU. I was majoring in psych with an emphasis on social services. And I realized about half way through my sophomore year that what they were teaching me wasn't gonna be how to help the people that really need it. I mean, the people who really are the neediest- the homeless people – can't access any benefits because they are homeless. And when the system does do something—they end up breakin' up families, takin' the babies away, putting them in foster care. And then those folks, the foster parents, get the money and- oh hell. Anyway, I dropped out. I can do more good, more real good, helping people this way."

"Leaving food out?"

"Some. But mostly I take it to certain individuals who make sure it gets to where it needs to go. Make sure it gets to the street."

"You ever get caught?"

Sunni nodded. "This is my third kitchen job. This year."

Raphael tilted his head, watching her face, animated with conviction. A little half smile tugged at the corner of his wide mouth. "And you're doing this because…?"

"Because it needs to be done!"

His smile deepened. "Ok."

"So how about you, Raphael? You want to tell me your story?"

"No."

"Hm." She scratched her nose, remembered the cigarette and flicked the ash. "Why not?"

It was slowly growing lighter. Raphael raised his head, looking at the narrow band of leaden sky. The chill was penetrating, but the rain was holding off.

"Were you born here?" asked Sunni.

"Yeah…."

"You have family here?"

He looked at her quickly. _Yeah, and they'd jump my ass so hard if they knew what I was doing right now…._

"I gotta go."

"Raphael—"

He stood and she looked up at him. "What?" he asked.

"Will you come back? I mean to talk? I have the night shift tomorrow."

"Yeah…I could…."

"Hold on." Sunni stood and slipped into the kitchen. Raphael waited, standing by the door feeling much too visible. She reemerged with a large plastic bag. "Can you do me a favor? I need this taken up to 119th. Here's the address." She held out the bag and a slip of paper.

Raphael looked around the little yard, and beyond to the streets, the sharp angles of the towering black buildings, and the mounting roar of the morning traffic. "Uh…Sunni, look, you don't understand. I can't just—"

"Just leave it by the door, the apartments on the first floor, just inside the door. You can knock or holler or something and just leave it. They're expecting this sometime today."

"I can't."

"Please?"

She wasn't tall, but still she stood at least a head taller than him. He looked into her face, bright and expectant, and was very aware of her eyes gazing back into his. He didn't want to say no. He didn't want to walk away empty handed, and empty. She smiled, dazzling, encouraging-

"Please?"

He drew in a deep breath and sucked in his cheeks. "OK. But I can't promise-"

"Thank you."

Her hand brushed his as he took the bag.

"You can go ahead and take whatever you want out of there, Raphael. Call it breakfast."

He swallowed. He knew she was seeing his face clearly now, no doubt. She looked as if she was going to ask him something, and then changed her mind. "You'll come back tomorrow night? I'm done around 11:30."

"Yeah, OK." He wanted to ask her why she wanted him to come back, and he also wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"OK, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He tucked the heavy bag under his arm and took off, going over the high chain link fence. It wasn't until he was a good half a mile through the underground tunnel that he realized how hard his heart was pounding.

Text from _The Velveteen Rabbit_ by Margery Williams, 1922


End file.
